


Fair Exchange (Student)

by Korrigan131



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korrigan131/pseuds/Korrigan131
Summary: “You are new.”The tone is almost flat, without the barest hint of a question; just a statement. Or at least Rob hopes it’s just a statement. It could so (too) easily be an accusation – after all, he’s The New Boy in a school that’s a very long way away indeed from the grey corner of England he calls home.Rob finds it's easier to settle into a new school when there's someone determined to be your friend.
Relationships: Felipe Massa & Rob Smedley, Felipe Massa/Rob Smedley
Kudos: 2





	Fair Exchange (Student)

**Author's Note:**

> Clearing out my WIPs. Also the worst title I have ever written, but that's what happens when a work sits on your harddrive for about five years.
> 
> Disclaimer: Neither Rob nor Felipe went to school in Italy, so take what you will about this fic's relation to reality…

“You are new.”  
  
The tone is almost flat, without the barest hint of a question; just a statement. Or at least Rob hopes it’s just a statement. It could so _(too)_ easily be an accusation – after all, he’s The New Boy in a school that’s a very long way away indeed from the grey corner of England he calls home.  
  
“Yes, I am. What of it?” he replies, on the defensive already ( _But not too defensive,_ he hopes, _just cautious. Understandably cautious)_ , and he looks up to face his accuser _(questioner?)_.  
  
Looking back at him (with a seriousness that seems so earnest that Rob isn’t sure if he should, or even _can,_ take it seriously) is a baby-faced lad he recognises from the back of the class that morning, the short one ( _clearly hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet,_ Rob thinks) with dark hair, who had been laughing and throwing paper aeroplanes at the Spanish kid with the huge eyebrows. ( _It’s a strange thing about this place,_ Rob realises. For an Italian school, there are plenty of students who weren’t even born in the country...)  
  
“You should be making friends, not sitting alone at lunch,” the lad replies matter-of-factly, taking a seat on the table top of the picnic bench where Rob had been eating his sandwiches. Alone, as had been correctly pointed out. He swings his legs and surveys the yellow-y green grassy area around them, watching other students at other tables, mostly in noisy gaggles, or lazing under the trees in the dusty shade. Rob is pretty much alone in sitting in the direct sun. But then, sun like this is still a novelty to him.  
  
Rob shrugs. “I’ll get to know people. In class and stuff.”  
  
The lad tuts. “That is no good. And I am _in_ your class, but you did not even speak to me. You see? No good,” he says before Rob can object, point out that he’s only had a single morning of lessons. He hops off the table top and gives Rob another scrutinising stare. “You play football? You are English, yes? Of course you play football.” He reaches his hand out to Rob, and sighs when he doesn’t immediately take it. “I am Felipe,” he says, as if that’s all the reason Rob should need to join them. “You can be on my team.” The last sentence is a strange mix of cajoling and flat fact, but Rob still doesn’t take his hand, his brain still at least partially concentrated on wanting just to eat his lunch in peace. The lad then grabs Rob’s wrist, tugging insistently, and giving Rob only the barest of moments to sweep his unfinished lunch into his backpack before he’s almost dragged to his feet.  
  
“I’m Rob,” he says, feeling the need to say something as he staggers into step with his new “friend”, who finally lets go of his arm.  
  
“I know,” Felipe replies, giving him an almost amused raised eyebrow look. “They told us in class this morning, remember?”  
  
Rob scratches at the back of his neck in embarrassment. _Of course they did, stupid._ “So where are you from, Felipe?” he asks, hoping that that isn’t as stupid a comment as the last thing he just said.  
  
“Brazil,” Felipe replies.  
  
“Ah, no wonder you like your football,” Rob can’t help but chuckle slightly, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder as they make their way to the pitch, where a group are playing a game of five aside that’s really quite energetic for the midday heat of the lunchbreak.  
  
Felipe gives him a look that could be a glare, but for some reason Rob isn’t willing to immediately see malice behind it in the way he would have done barely five minutes ago. “We do not all play football,” he says, a touch of grumpiness in his voice.  
  
“Neither do the English,” Rob replies, raising his eyebrows and looking down with a slight challenge at his new friend.  
  
Felipe stops walking and looks up ( _It’s quite a long way up too,_ Rob muses). “But _you_ do, yes?” Once again, Rob isn’t sure if it’s a statement or a question.  
  
“Yeah, I do, don’t worry,” he smiles, and he’s sure his companion looks a little relieved.  
  
“Good.” Felipe suddenly beams, all bright teeth and crinkled but sparkling eyes, as if he’s just got the joke. “Because I do too.” And Rob realises that at least a bit of English banter translates into whatever bastardised language this Brazilian boy speaking English to him in an Italian school thinks in.  
  
Then Felipe bounds into the middle of the game the moment the ball goes out of play, calling out loudly and speaking quickly, until Rob realises that he’s been introduced, put on Felipe’s team (as his new friend had promised), and is being waved onto the pitch already. He shakes himself slightly, ditches his backpack on the white line, and jogs over to where Felipe is pointing. He’s barely in position before someone has whistled, a piercing wolf-whistle, to restart the game.  
  
Speaking Italian? Not his strong point. _(Not yet, anyway.)_ Making friends? Can take him a while. But football? Football he can do. Rob grins, and is off across the pitch, chasing down the captain of the other team – eyebrows boy, from class – as he makes a run on Felipe’s _(our)_ team’s goal, moving faster than his layer of puppy fat would lead people to expect.  
  
*  
  
“You are not so bad,” Felipe jokes, giving Rob a playful elbow in the stomach ( _He probably aimed for the ribs but can’t reach,_ Rob thinks, and tries not to laugh out loud at the thought).  
  
“Not too shabby yourself,” he replies, smiling a bit lopsidedly and scrubbing his sweat-dampened hair out of his eyes. He’s tired now, his shirt slightly sticky, and he’s sure he’s bright red from the sun and the running around. It can’t be a good look, not ideal for making the rest of his first impressions at a brand new school, but something about the lack of fuss around his joining the football game makes him much less worried about the entire rest of the term, let alone just the afternoon’s classes. But at least the locker-lined corridor is cool...  
  
“I will see you in class, yes?” Felipe says, stopping by what appears to be his locker in the long row of rattly little metal doors and fiddling with the padlock. Rob smiles his reply. It’s almost too easy to get on with this lad, and Rob has no idea why.  
  
“See you in there,” he says, and starts off to their next lesson.  
  
Within ten seconds he’s back by Felipe’s side.  
  
“Did you miss me already?” Felipe teases when he looks up to find the new boy back by his side.  
  
Rob fights down the natural urge to give him a friendly whack around the back of his head. “No,” he admits sheepishly, “I just don’t know where I’m going now...”  
  
“It is a very good thing that you have me to look after you, for sure,” Felipe says, and once again Rob isn’t sure quite how serious he’s being. “Follow me!” he declares, and Rob falls back into step beside him. It’s only been a few hours, but it already feels like a familiar place to be.


End file.
